


Tidal Wave

by Minuialeth75



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 21:44:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5065402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minuialeth75/pseuds/Minuialeth75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Tell her there’s no point in wasting time because things happen and then it’s too late.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tidal Wave

**Author's Note:**

> Set between "The Girl Who Died" and "The Woman Who Lived".  
> Spoilers for Season 8 and 9.

Clara was sitting on the bed of her Tardis bedroom. It was time for Danny’s five minutes. That’s how it had begun, after Christmas. After her latest adventure with the Doctor, she would sit in the quiet of her bedroom and think about Danny.  
Lately, her room in the Tardis had become the main decor for her thoughts. She had finally listened to the Doctor who kept saying that it was no use having a time machine if you didn’t really use it. So she’d be gone for weeks at once and coming back in her time line just a few minutes after leaving it. She was aware that the “real world” felt less and less real to her, but it was something she always pushed in the back of her mind. Not now, later… She’d reflect on that later.  
She was also aware that her five minutes thinking about Danny had slowly changed into talking out loud to him. Relating her most recent adventure with the Doctor.  
She had stopped short the very first time she had realised what she was doing, horrified, feeling she had betrayed Danny. Again. Right after, she’d behaved a little coldly with the Doctor, as if it was his fault. As a result, the already more distant man had become even more distant, casting interrogative looks her way.  
She had tried to go back to her customary five minutes, but she had found that she just couldn’t do it that way anymore. Her thoughts about Danny came into bursts at any given moment now, and her five minutes to him had morphed into her voicing her thoughts about her latest adventure. Sometimes she even had the impression that the Tardis was listening.  
She had slipped back into her old self with the Doctor and as a result, he had thawed a little.  
Very lately, the five minutes had become less about the events she had just been through and more like musings about the Doctor. Thoughts about the Doctor.

She would never admit that to him, even if she suspected he felt it, but sometimes she was still trying to figure this new him out. She had been able to read the previous Doctor better. He had been more accessible. He had _made himself_ more accessible to her.  
This one was more… prickly. More standoffish. The lack of physical contact had been hard at first. His previous self had been so tactile, so generous with his touch.  
She had tried to re-initiate that after Christmas, but feeling the Doctor tense each time she hugged him, merely enduring her touch where he had previously basked in it, had hurt too much. She had stopped trying after a short while, realising his real discomfort.  
She hadn’t wondered about that new behaviour at first, thinking that because he was another man, some things were bound to change about him. But then, one day, his excuse for slipping his hand from under hers had been “I’m no longer used to it, it’s… difficult”, and she had suddenly understood.  
Maybe it was the first time she had talked aloud about the Doctor in her room. Sitting on her bed and saying to no one in particular – or maybe to the Tardis – “It’s Trenzalore, isn’t it?”  
He had never said exactly how long because they _never_ talked about it, but he must have spent centuries there. Surrounded by people who kept dying, either with old age or because of the war. Surrounded but ultimately alone. So alone. No one to touch. No one touching him, comforting him. For centuries. The thought had hurt so much she had teared up. So she had stopped trying to touch.

She had had Danny to compensate. Tender and cuddly Danny, who got clingy when he was drifting off to sleep. Danny whom she could touch all she wanted. Danny whom she thought would be enough for a lifetime. But he hadn’t been enough for her, had he? She had been too addicted to all of time and space at her disposal. Then she had started to suspect that maybe it wasn’t only the adventures she was addicted to.  
After the Orient Express, she had realised that she couldn’t leave the Doctor. It wasn’t only the thrill of new planets, of eras gone by, of deep mysteries waiting to be solved, of the adrenaline pumping in her blood… She was addicted to the Doctor himself. He saw her differently, he looked at her like no one had ever done. He was a 2.000 years old Time Lord, and he _saw_ her.  
“You can’t see me, can you? You look at me and you can’t see me. Do you have an idea what it’s like?”  
Clara pushed back the memory that had come unbidden. It hurt too much. She had been callous, only thinking about the pain of losing him whereas he had been _there_ all along, lost and adrift in a new body. But he had seemed so different. Until she had properly looked into his eyes.

And today he had hugged her. Not a hug to hide his face. A real spinning hug, crushed in his arms. It hadn’t happened since… For a moment, it was like his former self was back, holding her in his arms. Except it had felt… different. She had only realised it felt different when he had started to change. When he had stopped stiffening at her touch, no longer recoiling when she instinctively went for a hug. When he had started being the one initiating contact. When he had started smiling again.  
She couldn’t pinpoint why it was different, but it was. Maybe it was because… His previous self had been so young, like an overgrown enthusiastic kid, marveling at the universe, a friend to share adventures with. This Doctor was… He carried a part of Trenzalore within himself, the weight of the universe seeming to rest on his shoulders only. He looked haunted. His edges where harder. But… what he held back in touch, he offered in words. For all his touching, the previous him had been mute about his feelings. His new self was… The things he sometimes said… The words she kept trying to forget because they were too much to take in.  
“Clara I’m not your boyfriend.”  
“I never thought you were.”  
“I never said it was _your_ mistake.”  
That’s how it had begun. Her mind had immediately shied away from the meaning, dismissing the words as the Doctor still being a bit shaken post regeneration.  
But the sentence had kept coming back to haunt her many times when she least expected it, forcing her to acknowledge it. The young Doctor had seen himself as her _boyfriend_. That had been a shock. Nothing in his behaviour… But she had to constantly remind herself that, as human as he looked, he wasn’t human at all. Who knew how Time Lords showed affection? Did they even?  
She had put that notion away, in a corner of her mind. This was a new Doctor, so it was a thing of the past.  
Then, there had been Danny, who _was_ her boyfriend. There had been the constant and difficult juggling between her two lives. Then the loss. The losses. Both at the same time. One dead, the other just as good, at the other end of the galaxy. The dark days and the loneliness. She’d mourned them both, which should have been a clue…  
She closed her eyes. Too soon, the thought had come too soon. She just needed to… slow down. Think. Think. Remember.

He had appeared on her roof on Christmas Eve, breathing life back into her, lighting the darkness.  
She had tricked herself into thinking that the promise of new adventures, the distraction provided by the thrill, was what made her feel alive again. Not the simple sight of his face, no.

It’d have been so easy, stepping back into her old routine with the Doctor, if he hadn’t looked at her _that way_. She could see it, in the corner of her eye, _that_ look. Intense, curious, almost speculative. She first thought it was because they were still a bit on shaky ground after the big lies they had told each other.  
But then, Missy had happened – again – and…  
She had known he was doing this on purpose to distract her, keep her from looking too closely, but she had reacted nonetheless. “When do I not see you?” It was the first – and only time – he had used that look and that voice, and her reaction had surprised her. As well as her reaction to him playing the guitar. She had been… it was like seeing him through a new prism. Like he had regenerated again, but had kept the same face. Her body had taken notice of him and it had been shocking and a bit embarrassing and she was still trying to forget about that reaction. She was sure he’d be mortified if he knew. Wouldn’t he?

Then things had gotten way out of hand. She’d still be wondering about Missy lying to her if she hadn’t heard the Doctor’s voice all over Skaro. He really would have torn the planet apart because he thought she was dead. She was dead, and he had lost all hope.  
She swallowed, the memory of the Doctor about to exterminate her overwhelming her. She had been more desperate about making the Doctor understand she was still alive and erase _that_ look in his eyes and _that_ expression on his face, than about trying to have him sparing her. That had been secondary. The Doctor no longer hurting so much had been paramount. He had hurt enough already.  
He had been so tender disconnecting her from the Dalek shell. She had been a bit out of it, drained, but she still remembered bits and pieces. How cherished she had felt.

Clara took a deep breath, gingerly skimming her fingers on her temples. It had taken days for the unpleasant sensation to disappear completely. She had tried to hide her discomfort, but she had known she had failed from the Doctor’s worried looks. She didn’t like him worrying about her because that meant he didn’t worry about himself. He never did.  
Just like he had seemed more worried about her than about the fact that his freaking ghost was walking around.  
He had created a causal loop just to save her. She had been suspicious about his casual tone as he explained her what he had done so she had looked it up. That wasn’t a ripple. It was a tidal wave. Not because very hostile aliens were about to invade Earth, no. Because he had made himself believe she was going to die. It had to stop, him doing crazy, dangerous things to save her.  
_Because that’s not what you do, either_ , her treacherous mind provided.  
“Shut up,” she said out loud. “It’s not the same thing.”

She just couldn’t… When she had recognised his ghost in the water… She had known that burning sensation in her chest and the howling in her mind. She had known it because she had already felt it when she had lost her mother, when she had seen Danny lying on the pavement. She’d have crumbled if she had been alone in the station.  
She couldn’t deal with that again. If the echoes of herself couldn’t prevent that, she’d be the one doing it. She couldn’t see him die. Not on her watch.

Clara lied down on her bed, suddenly drained.

“Immortality is not living forever, that’s not what it feels like. Immortality is everybody else dying.”

That had been an hour ago. That had been after the Doctor’s outburst about him not standing the thought that one day he was going to lose her, that she’d be just a memory. She hadn’t known what to say. Perhaps “ _Mortality means losing people too, when they die before you do._ ”  
Too much, it had been too much. Too big.

“She might meet someone she can’t bear to lose. That happens, I believe.”

“Yeah, it happens,” Clara said out loud to the ceiling, a tear rolling down on her cheek, landing on the duvet. 

It wasn’t only about not losing someone else. It was about the visceral need to see him alive and well, to see him smiling, to be the cause of the smile, to see him slowly coming out of his shell, to call him out on his bullshit when it became too much, to force him to care or at least to pretend he did, to take his hand and run to the Tardis, to see his eyes lit up, to…  
She laughed a laugh that sounded a bit crazed.  
She wasn’t addicted to the Doctor, oh no. It’d have been too simple, too easy. She loved him.  
She had loved him for years. She had loved two men at the same time and she hadn’t realised. Fool. Danny. Danny had guessed, Danny had known. Yet he had let her go on trips with the Doctor. Danny had always been smarter than she was. And a better person.  
The notion of loving the Doctor must have been potentially so frightening that her psyche had buried it deeply, hiding it under simple caring friendship, stifling the fire in her soul.

It was the Doctor himself who had rekindled the flame. While she was hiding the truth deep inside herself, he had been saying the same thing to her, over and over. He had kept showing her.  
“Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?”  
That had shaken her, but she had been plunged too deep in her mourning. Nothing else than seeing Danny again had mattered.

Did the Doctor even realise what he was doing? If so, did he know the implications? Did he understand?  
Did it really matter if he didn't? He _was_ saying and doing those things, and that was what mattered.  
She didn't invent or imagine them. They had happened, they had been said...  
She had told him “If you love me in any way” in her panic after seeing his ghost, not completely conscious of what she was implying until after the words had left her mouth. She had been so scared for him… and he had come back alive. For her. Tidal wave. 

It seemed they both had been carefully ignoring the huge elephant in the room all that time. For what?  
What was the risk? They both already took too many risks for each other, they had already had big fallouts... What could change?  
Clara immediately clamped down on the anguished thoughts that threatened to form. Enough of that. She was brave enough to face aliens and monsters and dangers, but not this?!

“Tell her there’s no point in wasting time because things happen and then it’s too late.”

Was it already too late? She didn’t have her own repairing kit. Would the Doctor even want that for her? Understanding he had very probably made Ashildr immortal had upset him.

She had left him alone in the library something like an hour ago. She knew better than to stay with him when he had to mentally digest something. She wondered if he spoke to the Tardis during those times. Probably. She was his only constant companion, after all. But she couldn’t comfort him, touch him…

Clara laid down on her bed, shivering slightly. Fatigue was catching up with her.  
She felt the temperature of the room rising. Sentient ships were awesome. She smiled and patted the wall behind her head.  
“Thank you.”

Suddenly there was a suggestion at the back of her mind. _Go see the Doctor_.  
Like when she searched for him on the Tardis and there was a suggestion of which corridors to take and which doors to go through.

“He’s not feeling so good, is he?”

Same suggestion in answer. Damn, she wasn’t really ready to face him yet, still a bit raw after her revealing musings.

She got up anyway because he had looked quite shaken when she had left him, and the Tardis seldom asked that sort of thing.

____________________________________________________

The console room was deserted, inhabited only by the soft humming of the Tardis. She had really expected to see him there fiddling with whatever pet project he had going on that week.

She found him in the library, sitting on the very old sofa in the corner, looking straight ahead with a blank face. Seeing him after her epiphany felt a bit odd. He was still the same grumpy old Doctor, but it was like her brain had realigned itself. Like she could see all the colours of the tableau.

“Doctor?” She softly called from the door.

No outward reaction. Either he was ignoring her in the hope she’d leave, either he had retreated deep inside himself. It could happen and reminded her that he wasn’t human.

It’d have been easy to turn around and go back to her room, but she didn’t think he was pretending. She really didn’t like seeing him like this. So she sat beside him. He snapped out of his trance.

“Oh. Clara.”

He smiled that gentle smile that was only for her. The one that reached his eyes and softened them.  
Had her heart gave that strange lurch the times before or had she so studiously ignored it that she had never felt it?

“How are you?”  
She saw the veil of lies slipping over his face as he started opening his mouth.  
“The truth, Doctor. Please.”  
She saw him visibly deflate. He threw her a look that was part exasperation, part fondness.  
“I feel… bad. Very bad. I've let my anger and my emotions guide me and I have very probably made a huge mistake.”  
“You wouldn't be the Doctor if you didn't do things out of compassion.”  
“That is not…” He ran a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I am a Time Lord, Clara. We are not supposed to let ourselves be ruled by emotions. With the power we have, it could be disastrous for the universe.” He leant forward, elbows on his knees, clasping his hands.  
Clara could feel her eyebrow rising. The Doctor was all emotions. He always used them to help.  
“And it was not about compassion. It was about making myself feeling better. I didn’t think about what I was actually doing. I played God, Clara.” He gazed up at her. His look tugged at her heartstrings.  
“You can’t be sure that she’s not going to be okay.”  
“She’s going to live forever, Clara. The people she knows now are going to die. She’ll see children she knows die of old age whereas she remains unchanged. At first she’ll try to form other attachments, but in time, either the persons will die too or they will notice her difference and leave or worse, treat her like a monster. After a time, she will prefer to stay alone. This is the lot of immortality.”

Clara wasn’t sure he was speaking of Ashildr only. She always hated to think of the times the Doctor had forced himself into complete isolation. It never did him any good. He needed company. He needed affection. He craved it. Maybe that was one of the reasons he had left his planet.  
She suddenly remembered a small frightened boy crying in his bed. Alone in the night. Already different.  
She put her hand on the Doctor’s and he looked at her in surprise. She squeezed.

“I am here.” He opened his mouth, probably to say something about her mortality. She silenced him with a finger on his lips. She didn’t let go of his hand. “I am right here, right now. I think there are things we shouldn’t run from. There are things we should experience fully before they disappear.”  
“I don’t think you realise what you are talking about, Clara Oswald,” he said in a low voice, his eyes boring into hers.  
“You’re right, I know nothing about losing people I love too soon, as you don’t either.”  
The hand that had been holding the Doctor’s came to cup his cheek. His eyes fluttered closed.  
“Clara, do you really understand…”  
“We’ve run long enough, don’t you think?” She had never let herself use that voice with him.

He stared at her, drilling holes into her soul. It should have been a bit frightening but instead it was just the Doctor. The Doctor looking at her. Seeing her.  
He moved his head slightly, seeking more contact with her palm. A warmth that had no name, that had a hundred names, spread throughout her body, like she’d never be cold again. And she felt… Looking down, she saw he had entwined her other hand with his. The hand on his face slid down in surprise. He was the one reaching up to cup her face now, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. She had already seen that look in his eyes, fleeting, before he turned away in a flurry of activity and words.  
He stared at her for a time. She realised he was probably filing this moment in his memory to play it back when she’d be dust. When a lot of people coming after her would be dust.  
She traced the two prominent veins on his forehead with her fingers. He didn’t recoil, his eyes still locked with hers.  
They had never stared at each other this long. That’s not what they did.  
That was before.

He captured her other hand in his. “I am not Danny Pink,” he simply said, searching her eyes for understanding.  
And she did understand. He couldn’t give her a quiet life in a house with white picket fences and 2.5 kids. But she had come to realise that it had never been what she wanted, what she was meant for.

“I know.” She squeezed his hands. “You’re the Doctor.” _And I love you_. She cupped his cheek again and this time he immediately leaned into the touch.  
“I could get used to this,” he said, his voice softer than she had ever heard it.  
“You’d better be, we Pudding Brains love those displays of affection.” Her fingers had ended in his curls on their own volition.  
“You’re not a Pudding Brain.” His grave tone was betrayed by the light in his eyes. So much light. “You’re my Clara.” He took the hand in his hair and softly kissed the palm. She froze in surprise, the tingling caused by his lips seemingly spreading to her whole body. “I never said I didn’t like displays of affection,” he said with a slightly cheeky smile, gently squeezing the hand he had just kissed.  
“Good,” she could only answer, her brain trying to catch up. She caught his look. “Hey, don’t think you’ve found a way of shutting me up.”  
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”  
Her eyes roamed over his face, catching his, holding them. “You’re going to check up on her, aren’t you?”  
“That was my plan, yes.”

He stood up, brushing his coat. He held out his hand. “Miss Oswald, if you please?”  
She put her hand into his. “With pleasure, my L…” He raised one eyebrow. “Nah, not going to call you that. Ever.” He rolled his eyes.

He held her hand the whole way to the console room.  
They had stopped running. Now it was time to breathe. Together. They would find a way. Their way.  
Clara and the Doctor, in the Tardis.


End file.
